


what a lovely way to burn

by juliusschmidt



Series: harry, you little shit [7]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Biting, Bonding, Dubious Consent, M/M, Marking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Scenting, Secrets, Self-Lubrication, Sexism, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:45:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1427281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's second heat arrives, inconvenient and revelatory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what a lovely way to burn

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series, so you'll want to start at the beginning. ([x](http://archiveofourown.org/works/946132))
> 
> Thank you so very much to [cheekysstyles](http://cheekysstyles.tumblr.com/) for the beta. :) All mistakes are _mine_. 
> 
> I really, really appreciate all the comments and kudos and love on the earlier parts. You're all the best.
> 
> **About the Non-Con label:** I tag all my A/B/O ‘Dubious Consent’ because the concept of 'consent' in this universe seems innately messy to me. Though it does not contain any intentional rape, this piece feels particularly problematic because both Harry’s and Louis’ abilities to consent are compromised by the heat and by secrets.

It happens their second day in LA.

The band’s energy is all wrapped up in planning for their first album and Harry isn’t expecting it. He’s not ready, hasn’t mapped out the conversation, not properly.

That morning he wakes up hard, pulse racing, and a thrum of hot energy sizzling beneath his skin. He realizes in the shower, one hand working his dick with rough strokes and the other snaking behind to tease his now slippery hole, that his second heat must be hours from setting in. Even with the suppressants, he’ll be out for the next day or so. The other boys will need some sort of explanation for his absence.

However, by lunch, Harry’s taken full disclosure off the table because, well, Harry doesn’t want to tell them everything, especially not now. Just the thought of talking about _it_ with a room full of alphas while his arse is _leaking_ mortifies him. Doesn’t matter that these alphas are his bandmates, _his friends_ , even though, maybe, it should. He can’t trust them, not when he feels like a caricature of an omega: breathless, mind-muddled, and desperate for a fuck.

He hasn’t been able to pull himself even an armslength away from Louis since breakfast. It feels almost like they’re bound together by a set of extremely powerful magnets.

He hadn’t thought anything of the angry roll of his belly when he’d set his hand on the door of their hotel room, meaning to meet the other boys in the lobby to wait for Louis to finish styling his hair or whatever the hell else he was doing in front of the mirror. But Louis’ voice had pulled him back. He’d called out, voice pitched low, “Hold the fuck up, Styles. Wait for me.”

Immediately, Harry’d plopped back down onto the unmade bed. He is beginning to recognize Louis’ _alpha_ voice. It’s deeper than his usual tone and rings with certainty. And it always, _always_ , works on Harry. It isn’t that Harry _can’t_ resist Louis’ commands. He’s relatively certain he _could,_ if he wanted to. But he’s never wanted to, not yet.

The angry flip and pull of his stomach returned later, too, at the recording studio they’re touring, when Harry’d headed for the loo. It had disappeared just as suddenly as it had arisen when, chasing after him, Louis’d hooked his arm in Harry’s and said, “Wait up, Jesus. Are you trying to get away from me?”

He’d chatted to Harry while he peed, mostly bitching about Liam, and then, before Harry had a chance to even wash his hands, Louis’d walked him backward into the stall, pulled out both their dicks and jerked them, quick and dry, until they’d spilled hot and wet over his fist and onto each other.

It’s really not out of the ordinary for them to follow each other everywhere, but the hint of desperation, the pang in his gut at even the thought of being apart, that’s strange. Harry wonders if it might be heat related.

Like other things he’s feeling regarding Louis.

He and Louis have made a habit of finding not-quite-private corners to get off together. They do it almost every day. So their earlier tryst is nothing out of the ordinary. But, as they sit around a heavy metal table and munch down mayo-heavy, pre-packaged turkey sandwiches, Harry’s wondering whether Louis’d be up for a second go round and maybe a third after that, if Louis’d be willing to flip shut the dead bolt on their hotel room tonight and spend the evening practicing blow job techniques.

They’ve been led around the place, met lots of ‘industry professionals’ and learned loads of new ‘industry lingo’, and they’re all a little antsy for the big meeting after lunch. The aid leading the tour warned them that the producer’s characteristic enthusiasm has been known to overwhelm newcomers. He’s likely to encourage them to take on projects far beyond their financial capacity and musical expertise.

They need to be prepared to have their hopes and dreams raised high by this man’s visionary leadership and then smacked down by the cruel, albeit pragmatic finance team.

Louis and Liam get into an argument over a hypothetical photoshoot for their album cover. Liam wants them playing sports or wearing leather. He thinks they should emphasize their maturity and manliness. People like and respect them as _alphas_ and it would be a waste not to play it up, to really sell it.

Louis, apparently, disagrees and expresses himself by throwing peanuts at Liam while explaining that their primary demographic target will be little girls of all genders. Having younger sisters, he’s quite certain asserting dominance would frighten them and their parents. They need to be careful about coming off as too aggressive.

“Everyone loves five lads having a laugh. I think we should do like Harry: charming and sincere,” Louis says, turning to grin at Harry.  His lips look nice turned up like that, soft and pink, but Harry thinks they’d look rather nicer wrapped around Harry’s dick or, nicer still, bitten and open, panting out Harry’s name as Louis thrusts into him from behind.

Harry’s arse throbs and he thinks maybe, like, he should be calling their driver or something, trying to find a way back to the hotel where he can ride the heat out safely.

Instead, he places a hand high on Louis’ thigh and squeezes. Louis turns to meet his gaze. Harry chews his own bottom lip and tries to communicate ‘fuck me’ as best he can through his eyes.

Louis coughs and lets out a soft, “Jesus, Harry.”

The clock on the wall behind him tells Harry in red flashing digits that there’s twenty five minutes left before their meeting. Definitely enough time for a blow job.  

“We can’t all be Harry,” Liam mutters and Harry thinks he sounds a little bitter. If he only knew.

“Be nice if we could, though,” Niall says around a bite of sandwich. Harry thinks it’s his second, or maybe third. “He smells so fucking good sometimes. Like today.” Niall sniffs dramatically, like he can scent Harry, even from his spot a few feet away. Maybe he can.

Zayn adds, “Yeah. I thought that techie who was showing us the editing software was going to offer up his entire salary in return for a date. Or maybe just jump you.”

“Fuck that guy,” Louis says, bundling up the wrapping from his sandwich.

“Can’t blame him, really. Like, occasionally, _I_ have difficulty restraining myself,” Zayn continues, with a wink at Harry and a lick of his lips. It might be a joke, but it might not be.

Sometimes, when Zayn moves in close, Harry feels a tug in his gut, followed by a tiny ache of arousal. It makes sense that he would be attracted to Zayn and that Zayn would be attracted to him. It’s natural. Still, it’s a small feeling in comparison to the pull he feels toward Louis.

At the moment, Louis’ face is dark and considering, his eyes on Zayn. Harry wants his attention back. They need to hurry to the bathroom if they don’t want to be late. And, to avoid being caught out, they’ve learned not to be late.

Best be direct. Harry moves his hand over to rest it on top of Louis’ crotch. Heat seeps out, and Harry can tell that Louis’ half-hard, almost, but not quite as hot for it as Harry.

Zayn winces suddenly and reaches under the table to rub at his shin. “What the fuck, Louis. I’m not going to steal your _bondmate_ , no matter how good he smells.”

It’s a joke, of course, Zayn’s use of ‘bondmate.’ It’s meant to grate at Louis, to mock their attachment to each other, but hearing the word grounds Harry for a second. He _is_ very close to his heat. It’s probably not appropriate for him to be getting off this frequently with Louis, to be inserting himself so close to an alpha, when he doesn’t intend to bond. It’s probably dangerous.

Louis rocks his hips a bit, so that his dick presses up into Harry’s palm and Harry knows, despite the risk, he’s not about turn back now. He’s definitely getting off with Louis, just this once more, before this heat fully settles on him.

Louis says, “You’re just jealous.” Louis doesn’t say what Zayn’s jealous of, whether he’s jealous of Harry for getting off with Louis or Louis for getting off with Harry or both of them for having someone to get off with, but...

But Zayn’s eyes linger on Harry as he replies, “Probably,” and Harry’s pretty sure he knows what Zayn wants.

Harry stands and announces, “I have to use the loo, Lou.”

He doesn’t dare look down. He’s sure his erection is obvious, tenting his trousers, large and obscene. It doesn’t matter. The other boys know what’s happening between him and Louis.

“Shit, Harry,” Niall says and Harry wishes he hadn’t. Though he’s glad that the boys know, glad that there’s no need to hide, he wishes that they would pretended they didn’t know. It’s embarrassing enough when Harry’s in control of the situation, when he’s choosing the time and place, when his flirtatiousness is cheeky, not desperate.

Right now, Harry does not feel cheeky and he does not feel in control. His face is hot, flushed pink, he’s sure, and his arse is damp and starting to ooze. He _needs_ Louis’ hands on him, in him.   

“Harry?” Louis asks. He’s unwrapping a chocolate biscuit, the last bit of his lunch, but he can’t fool Harry. He’d felt Louis’ erection, insistent in his hand, and Harry knows that Louis doesn’t really want to eat his dessert. He doesn’t really want to wait. He wants to tease Harry.

Harry isn’t the mood to be teased. “Fine,” he mutters. “Finish your lunch. Zayn’ll help me find the toilet.”

Zayn splutters and throws up a hand, probably to protest, but Louis’ out his seat.

“Absolutely, not,” he says, voice low and demanding. Harry flicks his eyes down to see that there’s a wet spot on the front of Louis’ trousers and feels triumphant. He’s not so unaffected as he would like to pretend.

The thought that he, _Harry,_ is responsible for the almost petulant, needy want rolling off Louis in waves makes Harry smile and quicken his step as heads toward the relative privacy men’s room. Louis is close behind him, placing a hand on the small of Harry’s back and then sliding it underneath his shirt to brush hot against Harry’s bare skin.

His breath is hot in Harry’s ear. “Want you so fucking bad, Harry. This is insane.”

It is insane, even for them. Sure, they sneak around, but today has felt different. They’d gotten off twice in the hotel room, once in bed and once in the shower, before their little foray in the toilets earlier. It’ll be four fucks before they’ve finished lunch.

Harry _knows_ it’s his heat, coming on quickly, demanding things from him, from Louis, but he can’t be bothered to care. He’s on suppressants; he’s not at risk of pregnancy- no matter what happens between them.

As soon as they’re inside, Louis turns to the door. Even though the room contains both a stall and a urinal, meant to serve multiple men at once, it’s also got a lock on the handle which Louis clicks shut. Harry’s grateful. The idea of getting caught, of having to tuck himself in or turn toward the toilet- act as though nothing out of the ordinary is happening, that’s usually fun, adding to the excitement.

But right now Harry’s too desperate, too _hot_. He wants all his clothes off, and Louis’, too.  He wants skin on skin, sliding and sticking. He goes straight for the buttons on Louis shirt.

“Off,” he says, voice so gruff as to be almost unrecognizable.

Louis nods and adds nonsensically, “Yeah, naked, good.” He manages to pull Harry’s tee-shirt over his head easily and Harry’s jeans, which are already loose around his hips, come down without a hitch.  

Harry isn’t having the same luck, partly because of all the fucking buttons on Louis’ shirt and partly because he can’t get his hands to stop shaking. Louis tries to calm him, clasping Harry’s fingers between his own.

“Harry, babe,” he coos, the endearment new and easy on his lips. Harry wants to hear it over and over and over again. Harry whines in response and bares his neck. Louis should kiss him there, bite him there, leave a mark.

“Harry,” Louis says again, this time more insistent. “Are you okay? You seem strange.”

Harry nods, even though he feels far from okay. Talking isn’t going to make him _okay_. Fucking, maybe, hopefully, probably, but not talking _._

So Harry returns to his task. He _needs_ Louis naked. Louis’ shirt and its goddamn buttons may be a lost cause, but that’s fine as long as his trousers come off.

Louis’ hands bat Harry’s away from the crotch of his trousers, where Harry, to his great dismay, had discovered more tiny buttons. Fortunately, Louis’ not wearing any pants and as soon as his cock, fully thick and bulging at the base, pops free, Harry falls to his knees.

Like this he can have Louis inside him, hot against his tongue. He wraps one fist around the knot at Louis’ base and Louis grunts. The sound of it rolls down his spine. Far beyond caring if Louis notices, he lets his other hand reach behind him to finger at his hole, dripping, open and ready to be fucked.

Harry’s paying more attention to the second and third fingers he’s trying to work inside himself than to Louis’ cock when Louis’ grates out, “Between your thighs, Harry, I want to come between your thighs. As close to your hole as possible. _Fuck._ ”

Harry moans around him then and moves off, attempting to stand without pulling loose his fingers, which are providing a much needed pressure.

Harry realigns their mouths, hoping Louis can taste himself on Harry’s tongue, hoping Louis likes knowing that _he’s_ what Harry tastes like, bitter and sour and salty. Louis snakes a hand between them, sliding his dick between Harry’s thighs. The length of him presses up against the back of Harry’s balls and his head hits Harry’s fingers at the opening of his hole.

“You’re so slick, Harry. Did you, like, prepare yourself? _Jesus fucking Christ_.” He sounds breathless and a little awed.

Harry knows that’s it. The game should be up. He’s got to tell Louis now. Actually, it’s probably only a matter of minutes before Louis realizes what’s happening for himself. But he can’t make himself say the words. He’s having difficulty forming any words at all, at the moment. All he wants is Louis inside him.

Harry can’t have that, he knows. Cal had gone over the danger of an accidental bond more than once during his visit and he’s lucid enough now to remember most of the details. He should say _something_ so that they don’t do anything they’ll both regret.

The words don’t come.

Louis hand circles Harry’s wrist, right above where his fingers are dipping in and out of himself, and tugs. Harry tugs back and tightens his thighs around Louis’ cock, not wanting to lose the delicious pressure.

“Harry, babe, let me.” He’s not using his alpha voice. It’s not a command, but with the pet name tacked on it might as well be. Harry slides his fingers out and before he has a chance to feel empty they’ve been replaced with two of Louis’ own, which thrust with a bit more force than his own.

It’s perfect and Harry struggles to keep his mind from going completely blank.

Lips against his ear, Louis murmurs, “You’re incredible, Harry. Your smell, your dick, your arse. So pretty, so tight, so _fucking_ wet.”

“Louis,” Harry hears himself whimper. Louis’ fingers are a tease, especially when he can feel the head of his cock, slit damp with Harry and with precome, touching so close to where Harry needs it. “Louis, I want you to knot me.”

“Fuck, Harry, I can’t-“

Louis’ rhythm stutters and then slows, which is not what Harry wanted, so with a thrust of his hips he adds, “Now, Louis. I want you to knot me, _now.”_

Louis comes, then, cussing and spurting hotly against Harry’s bare arse and the feel of Louis’ seed against his hole is wonderful and terrible, exactly what he wants yet not even close.  Harry’s still hard, leaking between them, and he can feel tears of frustration wetting his cheeks.

After a moment, Louis’ eyes blink open and he takes Harry in. Then, gentle and slow, Louis begins to cover Harry’s face and neck with kisses. He takes his hand, still covered in Harry’s fluid and his own come, and wraps it around Harry’s dick. As he strokes, he bites into Harry’s neck.

Louis’ marking him, Harry realizes. Everyone who sees Harry will know that he’s being taken care of and that he belongs to someone, to Louis. Harry chokes and spills over Louis’ fingers. It’s a small orgasm, just a few quick pulses of his dick and barely a bubble of come. He’s still hard at the end of it.

Louis looks down and then up again to meet Harry’s eyes. “What the hell.”

It’s not the first time Harry hasn’t really softened after a couple of orgasms shared between them. But, as it’s his fourth today, Harry imagines it’s rather suspect. He’s fully in heat now, though, body hot and mind hazy, and he finds can’t pull forward an explanation.

Shaking, Harry goes to the sink to wash up. Over the running of the water, he hears Louis ask, “How the fuck did you not knot up, Haz? Your scent is overwhelming. It’s never been like this.”

Louis sounds confused, scared maybe, and in the mirror Harry tries to smile at him, but he’s not looking. As he pulls on his trousers, he says, “Not that I don’t love this, cause I _really really_ do, but I think maybe you should see someone. A gender specialist, just to, like, talk or whatever.”

Harry nods, picking his own clothes up off the floor. “Yeah,” he agrees. His arse aches, protesting its own emptiness. It’s still leaking of course and he’s not sure his jeans will hide the stain. After this very important meeting with the producer he’ll have to find someone to get him back to the hotel and into a private room. That’s what Cal’d said to do as soon as he realized he’d gone into heat. Maybe Harry’s a little slow in following that advice, but better late than never. Probably.

Louis moves toward him and touches Harry’s neck. His fingers are gentle, but the press of them against the tender bruise Louis’d left stings and Harry lets out a little gasp.

“You have no idea how sexy you are right now.” His eyes catch on Harry’s lips.   “I still, even after… _Fuck._ ”

It’s not exactly true. Harry knows, _everyone knows_ , that an omega in heat is the most sexually enticing creature in the world.

“The meeting,” Harry says, tempted to kiss Louis again, to beg harder this time, to plead more plainly for what he wants- Louis’ cock inside his arse.

Louis touches his lips to Harry’s, brief and soft, a promise and says, “Okay, babe.”

~

They pass only one woman en route to the conference room, and she stops in her tracks, sends Harry a smoldering look and continues to watch him until they turn a corner.

“She was rude,” Louis comments, an ugly edge to his voice as his grip tightens on Harry’s arm. His fingers dig deep enough for the touch to be painful, but in a good way, a way that reminds Harry that he’s not alone.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, trying to picture again the look the woman had given him. He thinks it had been openly salacious. Suddenly, he’s worried that maybe he’s farther along than he’d thought. Maybe people can _tell_.

They pass a clock and Harry can see that they’re going to be several minutes late. Harry hates to be late and tries to pick up the pace, but Louis slows him.  

“We’re fine,” Louis says. “Play it cool. Like we lost track of time, kicking a ball around outside or something.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair and gives Louis a doubtful frown. Louis looks sweaty and flushed and his hair, though carefully styled that morning, is matted to his forehead. Harry knows he’s worse off still, tear tracks drying on his cheeks, lips so bitten they’re almost bleeding, out of breath, arse sticky with come, and the scent of sex and heat wafting off him.

They’re almost at the conference room, so close Harry can see the top of Niall’s head through the window in the door. Louis stops them, gripping Harry’s shoulders tightly.

He frowns at Harry. “You really don’t look well. I noticed earlier, but…” He trails off and puts a hand to Harry’s forehead, before yanking it back quickly. “Yikes! You’re burning up, Haz. You’re definitely sick. Maybe you should just go back to the hotel. I can go with you, if you’d like. No, scratch that. I’m definitely coming with you.”  

He’s right, Harry probably should leave. He’s almost out of his mind with pent-up arousal, but this producer may hold their entire fate in his hands. Harry pushes past him, angry. “This is a very important meeting, Louis. I won’t be cut out of making decisions about our band just because I’m an- just because I’m a little ill.”

The moment he opens the door to the conference room, he knows he’s made a mistake. Six sets of eyes fly to him and stick. The other boys are there and the assistant from this morning, as well as a stocky middle aged man with overly bright eyes. To Harry’s surprise, Simon’s present as well, sitting closest to the door. And they’re all looking at him with varying degrees of desire and confusion.

The scent of the four, maybe five, alphas, each reaching out and trying to draw him in, all at once, is overwhelming, and it turns Harry’s stomach. He shuffles closer to Louis, his cinnamon smell warm and comforting.

Simon speaks first, “We need to get you to the hotel, Harry. _Christ_. You should not be here right now. What were you thinking?”

Harry winces and steps so that he’s pressed back to front with Louis.

Wrapping an arm protectively around Harry’s middle, Louis bites back, “Harry may not be feeling great, but he wants to be here. He cares about the band’s future. You can’t tell him what to do.”

Simon folds his hands over his chest and regards them. Niall and Liam are still gaping at him. Zayn, too, looks stunned, but he’s studying his hands instead of Harry. Both the people from the studio busy themselves with the notes in front of them.

“If Harry really cared about the band’s future, he would have headed back to the hotel hours ago, when his arse first began leaking. _Bloody hell_ , Harry. I do not know how we’re going to get you back there unnoticed, now.”

“We can get a private car to drop him off at the back entrance. No big deal,” the producer says, turning to raise a brow to his assistant.

Simon sighs and rubs at his temples. “He’s scenting awfully strongly. I’m not sure who we could trust with him. Even betas’ll be affected at this point, I’d say.”

“His arse is leaking?” Liam asks, looking up at Harry again. “How can you know that? And I thought that only happened to omegas, like, during their heats.”

“Fuck off, Liam. Quit staring at him,” Louis bites out, mouth close enough to Harry’s ear that Harry can feel his breath against his neck. Then he adds, more quietly, “But you, um, were like. Do you have a weird condition or something, Harry?”

Liam persists, sounding appalled, “Wait. Like, are there conditions that can make an alpha’s arse leak?”

“Must be,” Louis snaps at Liam. He sounds angry. Soft enough now so only Harry can hear, he whispers, “What’s going on?”

Harry shakes his head. Everything, the aches in his body, the smells of the room, his yearning for Louis, it’s all blurring together and Harry’s having difficulty following what’s happening.

Zayn cries, “For chrissake, you two, Harry’s an omega.” His voice is raised louder than Harry’s ever heard it. He sounds exasperated when he adds, “Like, obviously.”

“You hadn’t told all of them.  Are you mental?” Simon’s not yelling, but it feels like he is. The room is hot with anger and betrayal, all aimed at him and it _hurts._ “Well, now’s as good a time as any. Harry is an—“

“Stop,” Harry says, finally finding his voice.  The word comes out soft, but it’s enough. Everyone turns back to him, hyperfocused. He continues, voice raspy, “Yes, I’m, like, probably an omega.”

“You definitely are, mate,” Zayn cuts in.

Harry pouts at him, but he then says, “Yeah, fine, I am. And my heat, like, it’s awful, right now. I thought I could-“ -he gestures to the room-“-but, I mean, I need to leave.”

As soon as he’s finished, he realizes how out of line that must’ve been. As an omega, he has no place speaking up, let alone making demands, to a room full of alphas. He’s fucked up and he can’t seem to stop making it worse. He feels desperate for reassurance, for comfort, and he looks over his shoulder at Louis. At some point he’d let go of the grip he’d had on Harry’s waist. His mouth is set in a thin line and his eyes are stony. Harry can’t help the tears that begin to fall.

Louis face softens, and, tone tense and throaty, he says, “Don’t cry.”

Harry shakes his head and wipes his eyes.

Simon says, his voice almost tender, as well, “We’ll get you out of here right away,”

“Please,” Harry begs, noting the whine in his voice.

“And maybe Mr. Tomlinson, too?” Simon suggests, looking between them.

“No, just me,” Harry says, spitting the words out as quickly as possible. It’s hard to say them, because, more than anything, he _does_ want Louis to come back with him, to help him through the heat. But he has no idea how Louis feels about him, now that he knows Harry’s gender, _and_ that Harry’s been hiding it from him.

Harry’s in no state to negotiate their relationship, not now.

“Alright, just you,” Simon assents. “Why don’t you wait outside for the car?”

Harry nods, and exits the room as quickly as he can, not daring to look anyone in the eye, not even Louis, especially not Louis.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Fever' by Peggy Lee. ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGb5IweiYG8))
> 
> I'm on tumblr: [juliusschmidt](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com)


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